65 pages • 2-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of racism, religious discrimination, gender discrimination, child death, graphic violence, sexual content, illness, and death.
Brother Eduardo Diaz, later Father Diaz, is one of the novel’s point-of-view characters and the closest thing the team has to an archetypal everyman. He is introduced as a self-serving monk who is easily flustered, frequently panicked, and prone to self-pity. After he impregnated a girl, his family forced him to take his vows to prevent embarrassment, and he’s subsequently spent his life in a small monastery performing minor bureaucratic tasks. At the beginning of the novel, he’s recruited by Cardinal Zizka to become the new head of the Chapel of the Holy Expediency. Faced with overseeing a collection of “devils,” Diaz is consistently out of his depth and horrified by their actions.
While Diaz never becomes a fighter, as the story goes on, he becomes more confident and his worldview shifts. He begins the novel firmly embedded in the institutional structure of the Church, believing in its mission and its hierarchy. As time passes, he’s forced to grapple with the contradictions between the Church’s proclaimed virtues and its often-ruthless methods. His character witnesses The Fallibility of Religious Institutions as he sees the corruption of the Church leadership firsthand, including Zizka’s scheming and betrayal, and he sees the sacrifice and humanity of outcasts like Vigga, with whom he formed a strong bond; his understanding of sanctity is shaken. His choice to remain at Alex’s side at the end of the novel, to help her rule, gives him a quiet, purposeful conclusion. He finds a role that allows him to nurture and protect without compromising his values, which he would have if he stayed with the Chapel of the Holy Expediency.
Alexia Pyrogennetos, better known as Alex, is one of the protagonists of the novel and Abercrombie’s subversion of the fantasy trope of the Lost Princess. The plot revolves around the devils’ attempts to take her across the continent to take her place on the Serpent Throne of Troy as Empress, but Alex doesn’t fit the part of a princess. She is frequently described as “ferrety,” and by Balthazar as an “unglamorous waif, with the starved and sickly air of a stray dog” (50). A product of the grime and cruelty of the Holy City, she steals to eat, lies to live, and trusts no one. She neither looks nor plays the part of the princess, much to the incredulity of the other characters, but her identity is confirmed by her birthmark. However, eventually Alex confesses her lie: She was abandoned by her father at the age of seven and stole her current identity from the real Princess Alexia, a girl she once envied. Alex is driven by a desperate desire to escape her own insignificance and a relentless yearning to belong.
Throughout the story, Alex transforms from a scrappy, self-interested thief into someone who genuinely cares. In Chapter 12, she reflects bitterly, “She was the cunning loner, the selfish user, the ruthless swindler, till anyone did the smallest thing for her. Then she’d have to be their hero” (94). The tension defines her character. She resists intimacy, then clings to it. She mocks responsibility, then accepts it. Her romance with Sunny provides a connection and genuine affection for two women who have rarely been offered either. Despite knowing her claim to the throne is fraudulent, she gradually comes to terms with the weight and responsibility it carries. Though still irreverent and direct, she assumes her role as empress at the end of the novel with a blend of cautious idealism and pragmatic determination.
Jakob of Thorn is a failed hero and a knight whose oaths became a curse: He cannot lie, and he cannot be killed. His immortality is not simply a narrative gimmick. It is central to his characterization, through which Abercrombie explores the theme of The Struggle for Redemption. Jakob is defined by his survival of endless battles and the burden that survival has placed upon him. After several centuries of fighting, he has become more scar than man. Brother Diaz describes him as “a man who had spent half a century falling down a mountain. Perhaps one made of axes” (13). His permanence makes him a perfect observer of humanity’s repeated failures, yet it also isolates him. He cannot grow old alongside others and cannot die beside friends. Every bond is temporary. Every cause becomes compromised. His only constant is pain, whether physical or emotional.
Despite his cynicism, Jakob continues to fight, not for glory but to shield others from the horrors he knows too well. He serves as a chaperone to the devils as they transport Alex across Europe. Throughout the novel, his relationship with her evolves from a duty-bound guardian to a paternal confidant. It is Jakob who dives through Saint Natalia’s Flame to save her during Duke Michael’s attempted coup, but he ultimately turns down her request to stay in Troy to fight for her instead. Each noble cause has led him deeper into bloodshed and further from his ideals. Even as Alex pleads with him, Jakob refuses, seeing the gift not as a new opportunity but a repetition of old mistakes.
The character of Vigga Ullasdottr is one of violence, alienation, and the fight against the self. She is a “proper Norse blood-and-lightning werewolf” and one of the more supposedly monstrous of the devils (88). She is the last to be introduced, as she is deemed too dangerous to be kept with the others, and begins the journey to Troy locked in the convoy’s wagon. While wild and uncontrollable in wolf form, as a human, she is still unrestrained by societal conventions, especially regarding her sexuality. She is described as physically imposing, covered in tattoos warning of her danger. Vigga’s chapters are written in a stream-of-consciousness style, shifting between thoughts and emotions, and internal and external dialogue at whim, illustrating that she is someone for whom the boundaries between human and beast, self and curse, inside and outside, have collapsed.
Vigga’s arc is a study in trauma, loneliness, and shame. She fiercely resists being controlled by others, whether it be her wolfish instincts, authority figures, or societal expectations, and prioritizes her autonomy and personal freedom above all else. However, she struggles with her own perceived “monstrousness” and uses her vulgarity as a shield. Her werewolf transformations leave her wounded, scarred, and sick. Though she insists she can keep herself in check, she loses control during the final fight and accidentally kills Baptiste, which proves to be Vigga’s breaking point. Afterward, Vigga stops trying. When Zizka arrives to take the devils back to the Holy City, Vigga retreats to a cage of her own will, festering in her wounds and self-disgust. It is in this moment, robbed of her bravado, that Vigga is fully revealed. She has killed someone she loved, and the line between her and the wolf has become irreparably blurred in her mind.
Sunny is one of the point-of-view characters and an elf, a group widely reviled in the world of the novel and considered the main enemy of the Church. However, she is being held by the Church to serve on missions for the Chapel of the Holy Expediency. This paradoxical position reflects the other paradoxes inherent to her character. Physically, she is simultaneously both alien and ordinary. She is described as having “a face reflected in a carnival mirror: impossibly narrow across the jaw and impossibly wide across the sharp cheeks, the nose far too small and the unblinking eyes far, far too big” (31). However, she also has freckles and a gap in her front teeth. As a result of the torture she faced in the past, the tip of one of her pointed ears was cut off.
While most of the characters are louder in voice and action, Sunny is an observer. She can disappear when she holds her breath, and she uses this talent to help when needed. She is a fighter, but a more subtle one than the others, and one who endures pain without complaint.
Sunny’s loneliness is central to her character arc. In the cursed house in Venice, she is trapped in a nightmare where no one can see her, mirroring her feelings in the real world. Alex breaks this convention, and their connection exemplifies the novel’s exploration of The Evolution of Found Family. Both characters feel like outsiders, and Alex is the only one who consistently reaches out to her. Their romance, however, is short-lived and restrained. Sunny does not get the happy ending, as she’s forced to leave Alex behind when she’s taken back to the Holy City. She characteristically accepts her fate with quiet dignity, as she accepts most things. When Alex offers a final gift, Sunny declines not because she feels nothing, but because she knows what such tokens would cost them both. In the end, Sunny is a survivor who knows the world is cruel and chooses, nonetheless, not to become cruel herself.
Balthazar Sham Ivam Draxi is a magician of considerable talent and even more considerable vanity, the embodiment of arrogant, self-made sin. He is one of the devils of the Chapel of the Holy Expediency and sees himself as a genius undone by petty rivals and unjust institutions. He is, in his own eyes, a martyr of brilliance, “one of the top three necromancers in Europe” (45), but his actions are often petty, selfish, and cruel, driven more by ego than by high ideals.
Balthazar’s early characterization plays with the familiar archetype of the egotistical wizard, and he is usually a source of comic relief, often bumbling or overreaching, in contrast to characters such as Jakob. However, there are moments where Abercrombie uses him in a more serious role, particularly toward the end of the novel. The central tension of his character is his antagonistic relationship with the Church that binds him. Balthazar positions himself as a rationalist: skeptical of divine power, derisive of virtue, and disillusioned with the machinery of salvation. Yet he is consistently outwitted and restrained by the very forces he mocks. His failed attempts to break the pope’s binding come to symbolize his inability to transcend the systems that dominate him.
Balthazar’s perspective also occasionally pierces the novel’s moral fog. His skeptical monologues on power, control, and hypocrisy contain painful truths, particularly when aimed at the Church’s duplicity or the so-called “virtue” of their mission. These moments, however, are undermined by his own selfishness, and he remains, to the end, a deeply unreliable narrator of his own virtue.
Duke Michael of Nicaea is the primary antagonist in The Devils and the foil to the devils. At first glance, Duke Michael is represented as the very model of a noble: charismatic, well-bred, and devoted to the unity of Church and Empire. He is also a savior who comes to whisk Alex away from poverty to a life of safety and luxury. However, in reality, he is far less noble. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear Michael’s nobility is a mask: Behind the pious phrases and regal posture is a ruthless schemer with a capacity for cruelty greater than any of the novel’s more obviously “devilish” figures. He uses Alex as bait to lure his nephews to their deaths.
Duke Michael represents the institutional decay Abercrombie targets throughout The Devils, both the corruption of aristocracy and the moral compromise at the heart of organized religion. As the favored candidate of the Church’s hierarchy, his rise is not predicated on virtue but on pedigree and political convenience. He is a man who can be relied upon to maintain the status quo and to further centralize the Church’s control over secular affairs. Ultimately, Michael serves as a reminder of the corruption that often masquerades as tradition.
Cardinal Zizka is an antagonist cloaked in both religious authority and the sharp-edged cunning of a seasoned political operator. As head of the Earthly Curia, she holds immense power within the Church hierarchy, functioning effectively as its chief administrator and enforcer. Unlike others in the institution, she has little use for pomp and theatricality. She is a calculating, ruthlessly intelligent presence who dominates any room she enters, characteristics illustrated by her dialogue, which is precise and laced with subtle menace.
To Zizka, morality is subordinate to effectiveness, and sentiment is a luxury leaders cannot afford to indulge in. When confronted with evidence of her conspiracy to assassinate Alex, she doesn’t deny the charges or feign regret. Instead, she meets the accusation with: “Well, this is exactly why I told [Duke Michael] to burn the letter” (520). She justifies her complicity in treachery with the cold rationalism of someone who views history through the lens of necessity rather than ethics, and this unyielding pragmatism defines her antagonism. Unlike conventional villains driven by ego, greed, or cruelty, Zizka’s motivations are institutional in nature. She is not a tyrant seeking power for herself, but a servant of what she sees as a higher order: the unity and survival of the Church.



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